


The Whiskey Darlin'

by dachenabritta



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Guns, Gunslingers and Outlaws, Mentions of Slavery, Outlaw Rey, Post-Civil War, Rey ain't gonna ride just a horse, Sheriff Kylo/Ben, Typical Era Violence, Wax Play, Western, Wild West AU, cowboy bondage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:28:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28558356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dachenabritta/pseuds/dachenabritta
Summary: Rey Solana has got to leave Jakku. But when you're stuck as a barmaid in the town's only saloon, what's a poor gal like Rey supposed to do?Answer: Rob the saloon at gunpoint, become an outlaw andhopefullynot get caught by the brooding Sheriff.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 48
Kudos: 76





	1. Shootin'

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all can thank peer pressure for this one lol.
> 
> Chaney

In the dusty, sandy wallows of Kansas, lay a town much like the thousands of others spread across the dunes of America. It’s here in Jakku, an outpost for all things dead and rotten, lay Rey Solana. 

The cross was hastily made, she hasn’t a doubt about it. Townsfolk must’ve come together at once to mourn not only the death of their fragile lil’ barmaid, but also the loss of the town’s only groggery. 

She spits at the ground, satisfied. 

_Good,_ Rey thinks, turning away from her grave, _let the past die._

_Kill it if you have to._

__

  
  
  


No one wants to be in Jakku. You’re just plopped here out of nowhere. 

You wake up when the roosters cock. You eat a simple meal and wash your face. You work for you keep. Then, at the end of yer tiring day, you go home and do it all over again until you die from some disease or a bullet to the chest. 

It’s been Rey’s typical day since she started her bartendin’ job at First Order Saloon. 

The old, weathered man who runs it, Senior Snoke, found her dragged along a wagon one early mornin’ five Aprils ago. The wagon belonged to Unkar Plutt, a cattle rancher taking advantage of the Homestead Act, moving west towards the Pacific and the gold. 

She’d been thankful, lord knows it, when Snoke had freed her. Rey was a guttersnipe in Louisiana, and thought stealin’ food from Plutt’s home at the age of six was a mighty fine idea. 

Rey watched the War come to a halt as a teen. She saw the other slaves freed in the southern reaches. But Rey wasn’t bound by money or ownership- just the threat of a bullet in her head if she ever wandered off. 

He’d offered Plutt nearly two hundred that day in exchange for her. And Plutt being the greedy lapper he was, took the deal. 

Snoke’s as rich as possum gravy. Skinny as a needle, hat browned and skinned from the years of wear. Owns the only Saloon in Jakku here where the population tips just over forty. Since the town’s really only made up of drunkards and bachs, Rey worried that she wasn’t gonna be _just_ the barmaid in Snoke’s saloon. She’d only been a little over sixteen at the time of the sellin’, like you’d do a cow, but he’d reassured Rey many a time: 

_“Yer too feral for these men here, anyways. No one’s gonna pay a pretty penny just to wrestle a g’hal like you.”_

He also reassured her that Rey wasn’t a slave like she once was. Jakku did’t have the patience to deal with slavery, and she’d already worked off the two hundred he’d paid Plutt ages ago.

Snoke’s a fine enough boss. He supplies her room and board. Makes sure she doesn’t starve. Everything the duty of a husband should be takin’ care of. But Rey’s a stubborn one. The whole town says so. No man will ever be good enough for her and Rey will never be good enough for them. 

They get the weary travelers, those crossing the Santa Fe Trail to Oregon or California . Lots of bums. The town drunks practically _live_ here. Rey knows ‘em all by name. She’s a good barmaid. 

Snoke was the first reason things started going south. 

Rey snuck out of her room one night to the sound of voices fillin’ the saloon in the early morning, before the sun had breached the sand and buildings. Snoke and a handful of whoremongers sat in on the wobbly stools discussion’ something Rey wasn’t ought to overhear. 

But she did.

They were talking flack: placing bets, piling gold and bills tryin’ to win something from Snoke. He don’t own any cattle, and he’d sure as hell not sell the bar, so it was only until she heard Gacy, the owner of the post office, say, “ _yer certain she’d never been touched?”_ that Rey knew _exactly_ what these men were bettin’ on. 

Snoke was auctioning off her maidenhood. 

It all began to add up in that moment. He’d never forced her to be a girl of line. Her bustle and shirts always covered her plush bosom and doughy ass. She was not only untouched- Rey was unseen and purer than freshly driven snow. 

She went back to bed sicker than a dog that night.

But Rey ain’t a feeble thing. She wasn’t gonna croon and cry, waitin’ for a man to come and take her. 

No.

Rey was gonna _plan._

And plan she did. 

__

  
  


She didn’t know how much time she got left. But Rey knew there was enough since Snoke still hadn’t mentioned a single thing to her. 

Besides the shotgun goin’ off every afternoon or so, First Order Saloon was a pretty peaceful establishment. Rey didn’t give a flyin’ shit about the cleaning or dealin’ with the other goonies that strode through the batwing doors. As long as they paid their bills and didn’t kill another man, they’d be a fine enough fellow. 

There hadn’t been a time... _yet,_ where Rey had to use her revolver. She’d purchased the Black-eyed Susan in secret, away from the wrinkly eyes of Snoke a while ago, just for some protection. 

Over the years, Rey had grown a quick draw, slick and speedy when necessary. She ain’t never dared shoot when the town was awake, but would go out to the flats and watch the mustangs run wild, her practice shots echoing through the peachy mornin’ light. 

Rey’s never shot at a man before. But that day’s soon to come. 

Besides the revolver and her hopeful aim, Rey needed a few more things. If she wanted to leave Jakku all together, Rey was goin’ to need to die. 

Not _literally._ Rey Solana would die. But not her body or spirit. 

A disguise was needed; as was a knife, a bucket of pig’s blood and a few empty maize bags. 

Rey didn’t have the skills to make her own clothes, or the tools, so she had to wait for the thrice weekly fretter that came into town. 

Maz was the owner of the Jakku corner store. She was also Snoke’s liquor dealer, buyin’ the best whiskeys and tequilas from the Texas. 

Rey don’t got many friends in this town. But she did have Maz.

She meandered in one lazy Sunday afternoon, her only time off, and pursued the measly five or six shelves of linens. A pair of jeans had come in the day before and Rey was quick to purchase them, making a hat the last thing she needed. She spotted one on Maz’s counter, sittin’ prettily on a stand the old woman made herself. Rey tried it on but frowned when it slid past her forehead and bumped the bridge of her nose.

“Got anything smaller, Maz?”

The wrinkled and sun-beaten woman looked over her newspaper. “Whatcha need a hat like that for, girl?”

Rey threw the cap onto the counter, crossing her arms. “None of ya business, that’s what.”

Maz put the paper down, brow raised. “They only make this style for men. Every shipment gonna be too big.” She snapped, picking the hat back up and brushin’ it off. “Unless your head is expanding in the next week or so, that’s all I gots.”

Damn. Rey was runnin’ outta time. She needed this hat. She already got the rest of the get-up from Maz, the blood from Tico’s slaughterhause and the knife from a drunkard who’d stupidly left it on his stool three nights ago. 

“ _Fine._ I’ll just tie back my hair or something.” Rey slapped four dollars onto the wooden counter. “Thanks for the help, you ol’ crook.”

Maz peered up, still suspicious, when Rey scooped the hat back up but didn’t place it on her head. There was a reason for that. 

“Yer no gal-boy, Rey,” the old woman continued. “This town is gonna be plunged into hayday if you stop wearing that bird-cage bustle of yer’s and a pair of Levi’s instead.”

If there was anyone in this marble garden of a town to confide about her secret plan, it would be Maz. But Rey didn’t wanna put her in any danger. Better to keep her head in the creek and not the shore. 

So Rey didn’t respond. Just nodded and started to stride back to the door, boots clacking against the wooden floorboards. 

“Yer better not be plannin’ on robbing me, chickadee!”

The door’s overhead bell jingled on her way out as Maz’s shoutin’ turned to laughter. Rey stayed silent as death, even as the dusty, western wind greeted her for the millionth time. 

  
  


__

Monday came round, then Tuesday and Wednesday. Not a peep came from Snoke until Thursday afternoon. 

He pulled her aside between the lunch and dinner servin’s, smiling as he plucked the glass she was washin’ with a rag from her hands. Snoke’s grin puckered his face like wet sheepskin before a hot fire.

“My little darlin’, I have a _very_ important mission for you.”

Rey already knew what the crook was going to say. But she needed to be an actress in this moment and just smile, showing her pearls off like a good girl. 

“What can I do for ya, Mister Snoke?”

He twirled the glass in one hand. “I’ve got this fellow, a businessman I’m in cahoots with from Colorado. He’s gon be visiting us tomorrow night and I need a package delivered to him for his arrival.”

Businessman from Colorado? What a load of bull. Snoke would be lucky to even _know_ a bum from Kentucky, much less _Colorado._

“Of course”, Rey beamed despite her interests, “I’d be happier than a jaybird to do so.”

_The shit she would._

Snoke nodded and clasped a hand at her shoulder, which just made her want to rip the glass from his dirty fingers and smash it over his head.

“Good! I’ll get ya the package tomorrow mornin’, sweetheart.”

He left her in swift, deft steps that sounded through the hallow building, before setting the glass back on the bar. Without another look or wink, Snoke was out of the door and off to God knows where.

She chewed a dirty nail. _Tomorrow night?_ Rey planned on starting this whole ordeal on _Saturday,_ which was in two and a half days. But it looked like she was gonna need to speed things along a bit faster than anticipated. 

The thought made her anxious for the rest of the lunch crowd, her rag moving faster and fiercer whenever she shined a glass. Rey snapped when a couple of travelers, fur traders she supposed, joked about sucking on her chest like a calf. 

They’d been lucky to leave with just whiskey drenchin’ their faces. Rey should’ve put a bullet between each set of greasy eyes instead. 

Dinner was always a whole ‘nother night. Men came in from the ranches, and travelers from the expressway and trains settled in for the night, which always if not included a plate of grits and a growler of beer. 

Rey was working extra hard, her feet achin’ in her lace-up boots, bustle crashing into her hips with every rushed step. She flew from the counter to the poker tables, keepin’ the beer and whiskey going non-stop while the cooks threw plates of hot n’ ready onto trays to be served. 

This was somethin’ Rey was looking forward to _not_ doing anymore. First Order needed about four more barmaids to help out but Snoke and his stingy little fingers would never hire more than what was required. 

No more corsets, thin brassieres or suffocatin ‘shoes. No more dirty remarks and smirks from the disgusting cattle ranchers on their nightly benders. 

And no more _First Order._

“Fetch us another round of them growlers, sweetheart!” a voice from across the saloon beckoned. 

Rey adjusted the feathers sittin’ in her hair as she made her way back over with another full tray of beers, the men already neck deep in their cups and playing a game of Faro. Rey never did learn how to play any of those tricky games- hell, Rey could hardly read, no less write, but she got by enough to read labels on glass bottles and the words on a sack or flour or beans. 

“Here you go,” she gritted, “I’m expecting y’all not to skip out your tab tonight... _again.”_

Canaday, the old croon who breaks the wild Stallions from the flats, grinned while taking the cup from her hand. 

“Thanks much, sweethear-”

The whole table shook suddenly as one of the men across from Canady slammed his fists down. The glasses tipped and spilled, running their game and soaking paper bills lining the table’s perimeter. 

“You’re a goddamn _cheat,_ Lance!”

It was only a breath’s moment until a pistol was flashed, a fight just waitin’ to happen. The five men at the table, including Canady, started grabbing at each other’s shoulders while a gunshot rang through the saloon, a bullet hole hittin’ the ceiling. Rey tried to dodge a few of the punches and kicks but was too close to the mess to begin with. 

Rey dropped down to the dirty floorboards the instant a fist met her cheek. 

This brush was turin’ to be a bit grander than First Order’s usual brawl, based on the screaming and gunshots. Rey scrambled best she could to cower under one of the free tables, knees roughed up from crawling at a frantic pace. She just needed to ride this all out. Not get shot or smacked again. Her life was changin’ tomorrow, and this hell on earth was gonna be nothing more than a bad dream. 

The batwing doors swung open and slammed into the wall, violently announcing their guest. 

The bar fell deadly quiet. Quiet enough that you could hear a skitterin’ mouse’s breath. 

And speaking of bad dreams...

Rey didn’t dare look up, but knew exactly who had decided to intervene with this fight. His black, gilt Spanish leather boots lazily strode towards the table where Faro was bein’ played.

Rey just gripped harder to the table leg. 

“Who started this here brawl?” the nightmare himself boomed. No man plucked the courage to make a single movement or sound until a sudden screech echoed from one of the men and Rey watched his stance widen, in position for a quick draw, and a man fell dead to the floor, a bullet wound in his chest. 

The shot still echoed when Rey bravely peeked past the table top. 

She was welcomed to the violent and pale face of Jakku’s very own, Sheriff Kylo Ren. 

There was an impassive and dead look in his eyes as Ren started down at the dead man, not a single care crossing his expression. He had the ability to make an ordinary fight look like a prayer meetin’; a well-trained and well-educated war hero that was currently stuck in the grave of Jakku, just like all of ‘em. 

He tossed back the lapel of his jacket and re-holstered his cannon. No one had seen the Sheriff in what was weeks now, since he favored stayin’ cooped up in his office or room, guzzling anti-fogamatics and piggin’ out on cornbread. 

Rey would know. She _delivered_ the bastard’s every meal and drink to his doorstep daily. 

Never had the pleasure of seeing him, of course. Just left it on the porch and banged on the wooden door. Rey had better things to do than wait around to make sure a war-ridden and shit of a Sheriff well fed because she _knew_ he was well drunk. 

“I _asked_ a question, gentlemen,” Ren repeated, a growl now to his voice. “ _Who_ started this fight? 

Canady stood up, removing his hat. “The barmaid spilled a glass, sir. Made the cash wet and set the men off.”

Rey’s eyes widened, the shock of betrayal hittin’ her like a train. She was still half-hidden by the table, but was wretched up from her spot by Ren’s gritty hand. Canaday refused to look up at her, guilty. 

“You mean to tell me a _girl,_ this little sparrow of a bein’, started a _gun fight_ that was loud enough to wake me up?”

A few patrons shuffled around. No one looked up. No one claimed anything else. 

“She’s got a mark right there on her cheek, Sheriff.” Lance said, pointin’ a finger at Rey’s face. “Because she struck me first, so I struck her back.”

Kylo Ren still didn’t look down at Rey. He towered over her like a water tower, and stunk like a drunk horse. Her arm was painfully held up as she dangled from his grip. She could already feel the bruises from his fingers.

“You gave this girl a lacing because she _spilled yer booze_?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Apparently Kylo Ren can write with both hands because he can shoot with both of ‘em too. 

While still holding her, Ren drew the pistol from the left side of his hip and shot Lance dead in a hair’s breadth. He dropped flat to the table, the game of Faro destroyed, blood mixing with the ale. 

“If any of you men want to strike a woman like so again,” Ren announced to the entire saloon, “you’ll see here that this is the result.”

The hullabaloo softened as the patrons all nodded to their Sheriff, and he tipped his hat back to them. Ren released her arm _finally_ and Rey tumbled down to the ground not only buffaloed but angry that Canady would make such an accusation. 

She watched him turn on his spurs and go to make his way back through the doors and likely hoddle back to his cave. Games presumed, as did the drinking, but Rey was left feeling a debt she shouldn’t owe. 

Rey bounced up from the floorboards and brushed off her bustle and boots. Following his steps, she pushed open the creaky doors just in time to catch his black boots hittin’ the sand before completely leaving the light of the bar.

“W-wait!”

He didn’t turn. But Ren did stop in his tracks. 

“Thank you for uh…”

_For shootin’ a man dead like_ _a can of corned beef for my sake?_

“...for settlin’ that fit. I hope you don’t believe Mister Canady.”

Ren placed both hands on his holster, turning slowly back to her. Brandy eyes looked Rey up and down, assessing the mark on her face and the dirt on her knees. She was hardly presentable for her customers, no less the _Sheriff._

“Get a better grip on yer fuddled men, little sparrow,” he grumbled. Ren then fetched a fid of tobacco and popped the muck into his mouth, chewing while still holdin’ onto her eyes. “I don’t wanna be woken up again.”

Bastard he still may be, Rey’s heart couldn’t help but shudder at his endearment. Rey adored birds; sparrows and bluebirds and eagles, so to think of herself as someone’s little _anything made_ her stomach leap. 

She watched him tip his hat and leave back to his office, the dry and dark night swallowin’ up his leather-decked figure. 

  
  
  


It was a damn shame Rey was gonna be poisoning his breakfast tomorrow morning. 


	2. Stealin'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Giddy up!
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!
> 
> \- Chaney

She rose early, far before any of the roosters cocked or the trains groaned. If her plan was gonna work, Rey needed to get a good start. 

Gathering up as many necessary supplies as she could without looking suspicious, she packed them into her mochilla and slung it over her shoulder. Along with a canteen full of blood and her disguise, Rey otherwise got set for a normal day of deliverin’ and bartendin’.

Even though today was _not_ going to be normal in hell’s slightest. 

Snoke slept like the dead, probably because he’s already half-corpse, but Rey tip-toed anyways down the stairs and out the back door of the apartments. They connected to the saloon off to the side, making some nights rather difficult to sleep through than not. 

In the darkness of the early mornin’, Rey dashed past the post office, the jail and groggery, just over to Maz’s where behind the creaky, wooden building lay a ditch of sorts. It was a dig out Maz made when bandits used to raid the Santa Fe trail too frequently, the old woman fleein’ her shop to wait out the rain of bullets.

For today, it was going to be her own secret base. 

She tossed the bag and blood down into the sandy ditch. It was a good three or four feet deep- enough to keep her head covered but not too much to get out of. Perfect. 

With her things hidden, Rey dusted the sand off her skirt, shivered in the warming air and took back to the saloon where breakfast was gonna start soon. 

Mitaka, the cooksman, was already bright and early like her. He was peelin’ potatoes in the kitchen when Rey swung the door open, nodding in greeting. He was a guttersnipe apparently too, found wandering in the streets of New York. 

Rey prayed to the Lord up above that Mitaka would stay his usual limsy self today. 

If there was anyone Rey was willin’ to shoot it was gonna be Snoke. _Nasty fucker_ , she thought, gathering the potatoes and eggs for his breakfast. 

Rey could’ve poisoned him too. But that’d look a lil’ _too_ suspicious. 

She slaved over the stove, a four-burner, to make the prog for the two meals. After Ren’s was hot, loaded and ready, Rey glanced over to shoulder to make sure Mitaka was preoccupied and slipped the vial out from her brasserie. She’d been keepin’ the poison after buying it from Maz’s years ago for no reason at the time. Suppos’d to be for rats originally. 

Sprinkling the powder o’er his hashbrowns and grits, Rey quickly stirred it together so that the white turn’d translucent. She had no idea _how_ strong it was, or whether or not the Sheriff would be rewarded with a quick death or a long, aching one, but it didn’t matter. Whatever didn’t get ‘er caught. 

Untying her apron, Rey headed back out to the pig trail road, walking down the dusty and limited path. One basket, neatly pack’d, went straight to Snoke’s door on the left. She had to walk a few more paces to Kylo Ren’s office. 

The golden grass-weaved basket looked innocent enough just sittin’ there. 

Rey sighed. 

She at least _hoped_ it would be a quick death for Ren. 

Shakin’ the worries from her head, she quickly made her way back to the saloon to complete the rest of her mornin’ duties, thankful that this was gonna be the _last_ time she ever did any of this horseshit again. 

At eight o’clock, Rey had cleaned all the glasses, counted the till to make sure it t’was full and then set off to her next step of the plan. 

She waved to Mitaka, saying she got to go out to deliver a package to Debauey, the farmer two miles west of town. It’s not like they were gonna get customers this early, so he just waved and went back to butchering some more swine. 

Maz’s wasn’t open yet, but Rey snuck down low anyways when she returned to her ditch. Snatching the bag and canteen back up, she double checked one final time, before she made her final departure from Jakku. 

Then, Rey Solana walked towards her death. 

Death out here, at least in Jakku, was dry and dusty. If hell was a place on this wide, wonderful earth, Rey would liken it to the sandy plains and sweltering air. Dead things- bush, skulls and sticks. Nothin’ was thrivin’ out here. Nothin’ _would_ ever thrive out here. 

She was sweating by the time Rey’s boots hit the moist dirt of the creek. It’s length bypassed the nearby ranch, Debauey’s. 

Debauey had more stallions than he could count. 

Which is why Rey would be stealin’ one of those too. 

Rey started shucking ‘er clothes, shivering when the cool morning air breached her sweat-stained skin. At least the sun’s gold’n rays helped keep her stomach and bosom nice and warm, but the outer layers were the _most_ important ones to go. 

She took the heavy knife out from her mochilla, and began hacking at her corset, linen shirt and satin ruffled bustier. A coyote would make short, deadly stokes, Rey imagined, as the blade tore through the fabric. To make it look like she’d tried to high tail it, she yanked the skirt lengthwise, makin’ it look like she’d purposefully done it to run faster. 

Gettin’ killed' by a coyote wasn’t _exactly_ realistic. 

But gettin’ injured and then drowning in the creek, _was._

In just her pantalets and socks now, Rey quickly opened the canteen and dumped the pigs blood all o’er the clothes. With a shaky hand, she rubbed it in so that the red, gooey liquid soak’d and stained the weave. 

_Perfect._

Her cunt was cold from the open air breezing through her breeches, and her breasts and arms were gooseflesh. Her teeth kept chattering. Ev’n with the sun up, Rey was colder than a witch’s tit.

Timing was the important part now. She left the corset and some satin of her skirt up on the shore, but pushed the rest into the creek. It was deep enough to go up to at least her shoulders, making it more a river than creek. 

Then, with a large inhale of breath, Rey screamed like the devil himself was stealin’ her very soul from her chest. 

She grabbed her bag and canteen, taking off towards Debauey’s shed right at the edge of the water. From the corner of ‘er eye, Rey saw the old man run out from his shanty, look towards the town, then out to the plains, obviously confused. 

It was the last look she got before Rey was properly hidden. 

With shaky and fast hands, she started throwing on the denim jeans, linen shirt and poncho, hummin’ with bliss as she was now ragg’d proper, the welcomed warmth sated through ‘er body. She tied the napkin taken from First Order ‘round her nose and cheeks to hide her face, moseying her hair so the ends tumbl’d like a man’s. There wasn’t a glass to check her reflection in, but Rey thought she’d gone done and transformed to a curly wolf: hardened and _manly._

Debauey was yellin’ now, callin’ for help and swishing through the water. He was a nice man- kind, even- but Rey had to do what she had to do. 

The old man quickly gathered one of his mustangs from the other side of the shed and Rey soon heard galloping back towards town, no less to report back to the townspeople of her death. Rey wasn’t the only woman in Jakku, lord knows, but the colors she wore were special to First Order. And seeing as she was the only barmaid workin’ there, it wouldn’t be too difficult to deduct. 

Time passed, only a half hour or so, ‘til Rey thought it safe to return back to Jakku. Debauey wasn’t coming back, the saloon would be fairly empty, and news would’ve already gott’n round about the animal attack and prompted drownin’, Rey’s body carried by the precious water of the creek. 

__

The walk back was a bit more nerve racking than the walk out. 

Luckily, not too many people were wandering around the main road when Rey reached the back of Maz’s shop. Probably all scared of the coyote attack, no less. She could hear Maz standin’ and talkin’ to someone on the porch of the store when Rey slid back into the dug out, on the dodge, below the overlay of the building. 

“Poor g'hal,” the man said with a gruff of sympathy, “they’re gonna start lookin’ for the corpse once Sheriff Ren answers his door.”

_Lil’ do they know,_ Rey thought as she shimmed farther into the hole, _Sheriff Ren ain’t gonna be answering his door soon- or anytime after that._

“I lov’d that girl like a niece. Damn shame that somethin’ got ‘er. _”_

Maz’s voice was low, but not as sad as Rey’d thought. She was glad though, that the news was traveling and it was traveling _fast._ She doubted that anyone would connect a dead woman with a young, strange man robbin’ the saloon. 

_Hoped,_ more like it. 

Lunch would probably be gettin’ prepared in the next hour or so, if Rey’s timin’ was correct. Not too many people usually filled in through the wooden doors at that time. 

She gripped her revolver. 

The last thing Rey wanted to do was shoot any townsfolk. 

Snoke definitely, but not any of the men, no matter how grubby, disgustin’ and greedy they may be. 

She yanked the two empty maize sacks from her weaved bag, and gripped them both in one hand, her other resting on her Black-eyed Susan. 

Goin’ behind the buildings, Rey cut dirt to the back entrance of the groggery. There wasn’t a lock, so she yanked the screen door open with a mighty pull and held the gun out to poor Mitaka who sat on a stool, innocently peelin' potatoes. 

Her heart beat like a drummer at war. 

She was really done and goin’ do this. 

“Get yer hands up!” she shouted, lowerin’ her voice like a man’s. Mitaka looked up from his peeler, shocked, over head and ears.

“Drop the knife,” Rey commanded and Mitaka obeyed in an instant, letting the metal piece clank to the ground. “Turn around.” He obeyed again as Rey shoved the head of the revolver to his back and started to walk ‘em both to the saloon. 

There was only a few patrons when they came through the swingin’ doors, but they were all already heavy in their cups, tossed and unaware of the bandit about to steal his loot. That- and the fact that Rey was still short enough to be hidden by Mitaka’s taller height as he began to open the register, gathering up the papers and hard money.

Rey chucked the empty maize bags onto the counter. The saloon was growin’ quiet.

“ _All_ of it. Don’t piddle ‘round and waste my time.”

The gun jabbed harder into his back. 

_Sorry,_ she wanted to say. Mitaka didn’t deserve any of this.

Snoke, on the other hand, _did._

Because this was _Snoke's_ money. And it was soon 'bout to be hers. 

A few of the more sober customers must’ve started to notice something was awry. She could hear a few chairs shufflin’ until someone approached the counter and peaked Rey behind the poor flame broiler. 

“What's goin' on, Chef-"

Damn. Looked like Rey was gonna have to double-trouble this.

With her left hand, Rey yanked the blade hidden in her holster up to Mitaka’s back, replacing the revolver that now sat pointed at the customer, a traveler who she didn’t recognize. 

“Make a _single_ move, buddy,” she started, “and I’m killin ye _both.”_

The gruffy man raised his hands up and made no short move to reach for a weapon. He was either a lousy, lazy man, or truly didn’t want to make more trouble than it was worth. 

“H-Here!” Mitaka stuttered, shoving the bags away from the till and down the counter. “Take it!”

Rey smiled behind the napkin and gathered her loot, tryin’ not to laugh in her success.

_Freedom ._

It tasted like a fresh drink of Adam’s Ale, coolin’ and like nothin’ Rey had ever felt. She turned around and kicked at a row of growlers, letting the glass fall and shatter with satisfying _cracks_. 

God, it felt _good._

She released Mitaka forward, lettin’ him stumble like a newborn calf, the revolver still aimed high. The more she looked ‘round, Rey realized there were only a handful of people either playing’ cards or sipping on an early mornin’ glass o’ whiskey. 

“E'eryone out! Now!”

No one grabbed for a gun. But they all rose and shuffled out, the three or four drunkards, all lookin’ to just survive another day and not get a pesky shot to the stomach by a noivce bandit.

Her gun followed the customer she was aiming at too until he left the doors. Mitaka had crawled under the counter and sat staring up at her, confused and frettin’ like a doe. 

“D-don’t hurt me, please,” he begged.

A pity sat heavy in her stomach as she lowered the gun. 

“I won’t.”

He sighed, lookin’ away. Mitaka obviously just wanted her to take ‘er leave. 

Snoke still wasn’t awake. No one sat in the bar. The Sheriff was cold as a wagon tire, perished from _her_ poisoning and Rey was gon be set for months and perhaps _years_ with 'er booty. 

This whole robbery-bandit-thing wasn't a hard row to hoe at all. 

_Why wasn’t I doin’ this earlier?_ Rey asked herself, giggly and fancy-free, holdin’ her maize bags. _And a whole lot more often?_

_That_ answer soon came when she backed her way out of the empty groggery, through the bat-wing doors and was welcomed to the eleven o’clock sun. She quickly searched for Debauey’s horse, most likely tied up near the office.

Because Sheriff Kylo Ren was out waitin’ for her, patiently, bathed in black and stark tall like the damn grim reaper himself. 

She froze the moment Rey set foot onto the sand, Ren only ten feet or so away from ‘er. The townspeople stood in a gaggle ‘round them, waitin’ for the inevitable duel that was sure to happen. 

The poison…

_What in hell’s name happened to the poison?_

Did he not eat his breakfast? Usually each and every dish was clean swept by the time Rey had gone to collect it. Unless Ren was drinkin’ straight whiskey for all his primary meals of the day, _he should been dead._

Rey didn’t draw her Black-Eyed Susan- at least not _yet._ Neither did Ren, who started to walk a circle ‘round her.

“Put the loot down,” he called o’er to her. Not a single townsperson spoke nor breathed.

Hell, Rey didn’t think she was breathin’ right either. 

She didn’t spit a word back. Instead, she gripped the bags tight enough to burn her fingertips. 

“I _said,”_ he tried again, “put the money _down.”_

When it was clear Rey wasn’t gon be doin’ anything the Sheriff commanded, he stood a little straighter, using a finger or two to tip his hat down and casted a shadow o’er his pale mug.

She was gone goslin. In a bad box. Doomed, if Ren tried a showdown with ‘er. His aim was true ev’rytime, had been since he was a war captain, and Rey knew if she attempted to shoot back, she was gon be a dead woman by the time the afternoon swell happn’d. 

“You look like a youngin’,” the Sheriff called out over the sand. “And I don’t wanna kill a child.”

_Child?_

“I ain’t no kid!” She shouted back, a bit too harshly. Almost offended, in a way.

He grinned back at her, pulling a kite ‘cross his face, like he’d found somethin’ out that Rey didn’t. 

“No," he purred, "you ain’t a boy at all, aren't ya.”

You could feel the tension heavy in the air, both parties waitin’ for whoe’er was brave enough to draw first. Rey’s shaky hand hovered close to the grip, already cocked, a bead of sweat drippin’ from ‘er brow down to the moist cloth collectin’ ‘er hot breath. 

This was gon be her only chance. 

She blinked once, then twice, her arm moving sharply just like she did when practicing her shots out on the flats, in the crisp and dawin’ mornin’ air. 

Then, Rey aimed. 

In a mirroring moment, Kylo Ren did the same move, his gloved hand fetching his own rod, pocketed in a leather holster, until they both pointed true at each other’s hearts-

_-and shot._

Gunpowder smelt in the air as the bullets echoed through the tiny town, death waitin’ on the precipice of its next victim.

But the victim wasn’t Rey. 

She watched with horror and excitement as Ren toppled backwards, gun still in hand and the other grippin’ his chest. Townsfolk gasped, knowin’ that anyone able to take down their Sheriff was _not_ gonna be messed with. 

The little sparrow had killed the hawk. 

“H-How-?” She stuttered, only for herself to hear.

How in the Lord's name did she kill _Kylo Ren?_

The shock soon wore off, Rey backin’ away to the office to steal one of the horses and make her run towards the plains. No one moved or shot at her, until the saloon’s doors opened and out came the ol’ weathered crook, the cause of all this here pain. 

“Hey!” Senior Snoke barked, standin’ on the porch still in his union suit, “Give me those sacks there, thief!”

He was stupidly unarmed, Rey noticed.

So, without hesitation this time, Rey lifted the revolver up to the source of her torment; the man who’d falsely been her savior, who’d tri’d and auctioned off ‘er virginity, and pulled the cool trigger. 

He slumped quick, dead as a doornail.

The town went into more of a fuss with now _two_ men dead and Rey knew she had to take ‘er French Leave. There was only a single horse reined at the office’s post, a black Stallion and most likely Ren’s. She hefted up to the leather saddle and unlaced the hemp connecting the beast’s mouth to the post, throwin’ the two bags full of bounty into the large holders to the side. 

A few people shouted and shot at her as Rey raced down the narrow road for the last time ever, past Maz and the ranchers and Kylo Ren- who lay in a puddle of his own crimson blood, watching her flee by.

  
  


And then Rey, now a longerider- a man of crime, high tailed out of Jakku on a stolen horse, leaving behind a trail of glittering gold, a dead barmaid and a streak of hot blood. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Some Western Vocab (yeehaw!)
> 
> Groggery- Bar  
> Guttersnipe- Orphan  
> Whoremongers- Men that frequent prostitutes  
> Girl of Line- A prostitute  
> Black-eyed Susan - A nickname for a revolver  
> Fretter- The freight trains that traveled across the country delivering catalogue goods  
> Faro - An old board game popular in Saloons  
> Anti-fogamatics - Alcohol


End file.
